


Insecure

by babybrotherdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Weight Issues, Young Winchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 09:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12528356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: The kids at school have been getting to Sam. Dean makes him feel better.





	Insecure

**Author's Note:**

> For an anon. <3

Sam isn’t completely sure what time it is. It’s dark out, though, and real quiet, and no matter how hard he tries, eyes closed and counting sheep and the whole bit, he can’t get himself to fall asleep. Maybe it’s good old insomnia, or maybe it’s because his thoughts won’t settle, but for the most part, he knows that it’s the hurtful words ringing in his ears, echoing taunts from classmates he’ll probably never see again. The ones that seem to follow him no matter where they end up, or what school he attends, or what kind of person he decides to be when he gets there.

_Midget. Fatty. Freak._

Eventually, it’s too much for him, and he wiggles his way out of Dean’s sleepy grip and out of bed. Makes sure to tiptoe on his way to the bathroom, ‘cause nobody in his family is a light sleeper, and he doesn’t think he can deal with having to explain himself to either of them right now.

He ends up in the bathroom, door closed and light on, staring at himself in the cracked, dirty mirror. It just makes him look worse, somehow, and he stretches up on his tippy-toes so he can squint through it, leaning in close. 

Sam’s wearing one of his brother’s old shirts, because it’s too big on him and it’s comfy to sleep in. More than that, though, it hides everything that he’s ashamed of under well-worn cotton. Slowly, his fingers catch in the hem and start to tug it upwards, just a little bit. He knows better than to do this to himself, mostly, but there’s a tight ball of self-hatred in his chest that’s making it hard to breathe, and he sinks into it, letting it consume him further.

Dean calls it baby fat and tells him Sam he’s going to outgrow it, but Dean’s never looked like this. Dean’s always been fit, always had girls who like him, always been popular at school. Dean doesn’t have any reason to cry when he sees his own reflection, and he just- he just doesn’t  _get it_.

Sam’s fingers curl tight where he’s holding the shirt, little fists that scrunch up the fabric and that shake for the longer he tries to hold them. He’s soft all over, no matter how hard he tries to train, or how many times he pushes himself to the point of being physically ill. He’s tried to eat less, but Dean watches him too closely to allow it, and he even tried throwing up, once, after a girl in his class told him it’d make him skinnier. That had just ended with him crying in the school bathroom and going home early, left fumbling to answer Dean’s frantic questions, and it didn’t even help.

He doesn’t mean to let the tears slip free, but suddenly, he’s crying again, shoulders shaking and biting down hard on his lip to make sure that no sounds escape. It isn’t fair. None of this is fair, because no matter who he is or what he does, it seems like he’s going to be stuck like this forever, hating everything about how he looks and surrounded by people who constantly throw it in his face.

He drops his shirt again and braces his hands on the cold ceramic of the sink. Squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think about  _anything_ else, but the voices are back and they’re never going to let him forget this feeling. They’re never going to let him forget about his flaws.

He hears the door open a second too late, and it’s not until the sleep-soft “Sammy?” that he fumbles to react. Nearly hits himself in the face in the rush to scrub his tears away, but Dean’s already noticed, and there’s no chance he’s going to let it go now. He slips inside the bathroom, and even as Sam keeps trying to compose himself- tries to come with something that’ll explain why he’s crying in the bathroom in the middle of the night- he’s closing the door behind him, soft and careful like he doesn’t want to wake Dad.

“Hey, hey,” he says, and he sounds a little more awake now, voice all gentle, and it just makes Sam want to cry more. “Sam, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Sam doesn’t steady himself enough to reply before Dean’s right there, hand on his shoulder to turn him away from the mirror. It’s a little nicer to look at his brother than it is to have to look at himself, at least. Even if he doesn’t have it in him to meet Dean’s eyes, staring at the band logo on his chest, instead. “It’s- s’nothing. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t need to see Dean’s face to know that he doesn’t buy it. “Did you have a bad dream? Or did something happen at school?” Sam goes stiff in the shoulders, chest tight, and it must give him away. “What is it? Some asshole say somethin’?”

Sam thinks that even if he wanted to tell the truth, he wouldn’t be able to force the words out. “Dean, it- it doesn’t matter. It’s just- it’s stupid. I’ll try to go to sleep.”

He makes like he’s headed for the door, but Dean doesn’t let him, staying in his space and ducking down so Sam has to meet his eyes. “Sammy, c’mon. If somebody’s pushing you around, you shouldn’t just... let them. I can do something about it. You just gotta tell me.”

Maybe it’s the genuine worry in Dean’s voice, or maybe it’s the knowledge that his brother would gladly murder any kid that Sam said was pushing him around, if it would fix the problem, but something breaks in Sam. He shudders, full-body, and the tears are trying to resurface, making his eyes burn when he squeezes them shut. 

“It’s just...” He can’t make himself speak above a whisper, overwhelmed with the stupid, irrational fear that as soon as he tells Dean what’s happened, Dean’ll realize that all those kids are right and start picking on him, too. “The- some of the kids at school, um- they just say stuff that...” He stutters and stops for a long few seconds, and Dean stays quiet. Doesn’t rush him. “They call me names and stuff, and say I’m- I’m too... that I’m...”

He chokes on the word, and then he’s curling his arms around himself, like maybe it’ll let him disappear. He wishes it were that simple, and he must make some kind of sound, but then he’s being pulled in close, suddenly, Dean’s arms curling around him all warm and familiar, and it’s all he can do to accept it.

“Sammy,” Dean says, and his voice is softer, now, low and a little muffled where he’s got his lips pressed to the top of Sam’s head. Sam squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to tremble the way his body wants him to. “Look, whatever those kids said- they’re wrong, okay?” He falls quiet for a second, and when he speaks again, he sounds more tentative. Hesitant, maybe. It’s an unusual tone to hear from his cocky, self-assured big brother, and Sam holds his breath. “Did they, um- did they make fun of how you look?”

If it’s that obvious, then they must be right. Maybe Dean feels him tensing up again, because he’s talking, again, quickly. Stumbling over himself. “Sammy, wait, listen. I didn’t- you know that’s not what I meant. Kids are assholes, okay? They just- they’re really good at finding the one thing that makes you feel really awful about yourself and then completely going to town on it, but that doesn’t mean they’re right. It doesn’t mean you should feel bad about yourself.”

Sam’s just shaking harder, now, and he isn’t sure when he grabbed onto Dean’s shirt, but he’s gripping it tight, now, a cotton-soft lifeline caught between his fingers. “But they’re right,” he whispers, and Dean holds him tighter. “They- they’re right about me. You know they’re right.”

“Fuck them.” Even though Dean’s well into his teens, now, it still shocks Sam to hear him curse, sometimes. “Okay? Fuck them, Sam. You know why?” And then his fingers curl around Sam’s chin, and Sam doesn’t have the energy to resist when his face is tilted upwards, their eyes meeting. “It doesn’t matter what they say. You’re the smartest, kindest, best kid I’ve ever met, and if they don’t see that, then it’s their loss.” He’s quiet for a moment, and Sam just stares at him, heart pounding in his chest. Dean looks angry, but he looks soft, too, worried. Conflicting emotions that Sam suspects aren’t all directed at him. “And you know what else? You’re good just like you are. Baby fat and goofy bangs and terrible fashion sense-”

“I don’t have terrible fashion sense,” Sam protests out of habit, and it’s worth the smile it brings to Dean’s face.

“Shopping at Goodwill can only excuse so much,” Dean tells him, and he’s teasing now, still holding Sam. “But it doesn’t matter. I still like you, and anybody worth your time is gonna like you, too.”

And Sam can’t quite help himself anymore, pulling his chin free of Dean’s hold just so he can wrap his arms tight around his big brother, burying his face in Dean’s chest and squeezing his eyes shut. Dean hugs him back just as tight, and it’s always right here that he feels safest. 

“Thanks, Dean,” he whispers, and feels the gentle brush of fingers through his hair. “I- thanks.”

“You got it, kiddo.” Dean doesn’t let go of him, but Sam feels him turn to look towards the door. “You think you’re ready to try to sleep a little longer? We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Sam nods, just a little bit, and Dean hugs him for a few more seconds before slowly letting him go. Sam misses his warmth right away, but Dean doesn’t go far, hovering close by as he turns to lead the way back into the bedroom.

Dad’s still asleep, and when they crawl into bed, Dean’s arms curl around him again, holding him tight. Sam’s more than happy to snuggle into his brother’s hold, eager for the comfort, and when he closes his eyes, he feels a little bit lighter than before.

He falls asleep that night with Dean’s heartbeat close by, and the tentative belief that if his big brother says he’s okay like this, then maybe it’s true, after all. Maybe he doesn’t need to listen to the kids at school, and maybe he doesn’t need to feel the way he does when he looks at himself in the mirror.

Maybe it’s okay to be the way he is, and maybe he should learn to like himself as much as Dean likes him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
